Upon Angel Wings
by Zephyress
Summary: He had tried to forget her after Apollo's Lyre. His mind told him that trying with her would be foolish. But deep in the recesses of his mind, the Angel of Music still sings, and it will not be denied it's glory. [EC pairing, Canon, Multichap]


**Chapter 1 – Falling Rose Petals**

_The Opera Populaire Rooftop - Paris, France_

_The night of the performance of IL Muto_

The cool air of winter was so arctic, so frosting cold, that had he not stepped out from the sanctuary of the Opera house, he would have not believed such an iciness existed. It was not as though he had never tasted winter's sky before, but it had been many years since he had dared to pass the boundary of the _Opera Populaire's _walls. And while many residents of the noble city of Paris found the winter months a curse, The Phantom welcomed the bitter winds on his flesh; for it gave him the odd sensation that there was something that breathed a colder, harsher bite than one he was capable of.

Swathed in a linen cape dyed the darkest sable, Erik breathed deep in the chilling air, only to release the held breath in a slow stream. His deeply coloured eyes watched in fascination as the heat of his breath evaporated into the cool night.

Was it possible for a creature of the darkness such as him to emit warmth like this? He pondered this for a moment, his gaze fixed on the fading curls of breath on the black backdrop of night.

Perhaps if she knew of this warmth he might hold in his soul, would she not be so afraid to love him? Perhaps she might see past his grotesque appearance?

Christine…

Again, for the thousandth, millionth time, his mind wandered to her, the sky-eyed angel whose melodies twisted around his being like a fine Persian robe. Even now, as he stood precariously perched on the roof of the Opera House, his mind drifted to her. Her: the goddess of song whom he wished to claim as his very own instrument of music.

Now, this very moment, he waited for her to appear on the snow covered rooftop. He had caught a glimpse of her figure rushing up the spiral staircase backstage, a winter cloak trailing behind her. Fear had been in her eyes.

The hanging of Joseph Buquet had not gone unnoticed by his angel, nor by anyone who had been in the theatre for that matter, and by now she had undoubtedly realized who the culprit behind the murder was. Erik's lips twitched down for a moment. How would she respond to him after learning of his kill in the sake of her name?

The thought only lasted for a moment, as his mind banished the betraying notion away. None of it mattered, as Christine would always come willingly to him. He was like the statue of Apollo erected behind him, with the lovely Christine as his lyre; to play as he pleased. The pitches of his voice controlled and mesmerized her, like a moth to the flame, and Erik enjoyed the way he had controlled her to his whim with it.

Yet it was not enough, to merely possess his vixen of song. He needed her to need him; needed Christine to hold onto him like he was her last fighting breath, like he was her last link to sanity. It was no longer satisfactory to simply be her divine Angel.

He wanted, needed her love. How many night had he spent plucking rose petals, whispering "she loves me, she loves me not…"?

"Christine…" he breathed, letting out her name like a musical prayer, all the torturous longing and yearning Erik kept in his heart filtering between the syllables.

And as if on cue, the rooftop's exit door burst open and out staggered a female figure, enveloped in a thin burgundy cloak. A tumble of mahogany curls spilled from her magnificent head, and her creamy skin glistened with light perspiration beneath the moonlight. Her breathing was deep and labored from scurrying up the labyrinth that was the Opera's garrets.

Erik smiled a possessive smile; a red rose, tied with an ebony coloured ribbon was grasped in her feminine fingers.

He parted his lips momentarily, prepared to greet her with the most majestic pitches of his voice, when a second figure appeared beneath the doorway.

The song in Erik's voice died and was replaced with a low growl at the Viscount de Chagney's sudden arrival. He melded his body into the shadows once again and hid behind one of the roof statues.

"Christine," the young Viscount whispered harshly. "There is no Phantom of the Opera!" Venom bled through the man's voice, as if his hatred alone could drive the said Phantom's existence away.

Erik grit his teeth at the presumptuousness of the fop's words. 'So there is no Phantom?' he thought angrily. Then did the crowd think Joseph Buquet had been hung by rafter mice!

"Raoul, I have seen him! How can he not exist if I have yet to banish his vision from my mind!" Christine exclaimed, her voice blatantly thick with fear. "I have been to the place where he lives, where even the shadows seem to bow to him. I have felt the touch of his hands and known that he is in fact, very real…"

The Viscount was silent for a moment. His soft eyes boring deep into Christine's and begging silently that her words were silly lies.

"Christine…my dear little Lottie," Raoul said gently, bringing his linen-gloved hand up to caress her face. He brought her into a light embrace and cooed soothing words to help her relax. "It was a dream, nothing more."

Christine's eyes fluttered closed at his soft touch and leaned into the warm press of Raoul's hand. Yet her wandering mind was suddenly filled with the memory of another's touch, so similar with longing, yet different in everyway. One devious hand lay not-so innocently on the swell of her left hip, while its twin graced over the delicate skin of her neck; its black leathered texture doing nothing but enhance her dazed state. Christine remembered the subtle smell of a man's cologne weaving around her senses, the scent so very intoxicating that she could have gotten drunk off of it.

And there had been the voice…

The voice that had uplifted her spirits and soul 'til the point where she had thought her very essence was being lifted from her body from the need so soar through the heavens. Yet at the same time, the voice had been tempting and sinful, and Christine had felt much like Eve upon savoring the taste of the forbidden fruit.

Many times after, Christine had often wondered whether such elation was possible; whether it was plausible to be taken up that high by another living human. The intoxicating combination of touch, scent, and most of all, sound, had been enough to place her upon figurative clouds, her spirit soaring as high as angels' wings. It had felt so incredibly real, yet to be so divinely free was a whim that had only occurred in her…

In her dreams?

A gasp issued from Christine's lips, and she was torn from her self-induced whirlwind of fantasy. _'You fool!_', she thought. Was her mind so weak that Raoul's words had already begun to re-shape her thoughts?

"Christine?" Raoul asked at her gasp, his voice laced with concern as he turned his eyes down to her face. Christine turned to look at him and saw the genuine worry in his features. Guilt flared through her, guilt for trailing Raoul's heart along while her mind was occupied with visions of another man.

"I'm so sorry Raoul," she whispered almost in shame. "But not even you can make me forget the reality of that man."

The Viscount could not deny that Christine's words struck a chord in him, but even more prominent to him was the tone at which the words had been said. Fear and hopelessness had invaded her voice, and Raoul was immediatley murderous towards the figure which had brought these emotions to his Little Lottie.

"Tell me," he demanded softly, his hands coming to cup her face. "Who is this man, this atrocity that strikes such fear in you? What is he, Christine? A monster? Only a monster could have such a pit for a heart that he would hurt you!"

Again, a soft gasp of shock escaped her lips as Raoul's words began to bring new memories to the surface. So long had she tried to deny the visions she had seen at the end of her visit to the Phantom's lair. So long had she forced herself to remember the voice that had been her guide and guardian. But at that moment, the voice of her beloved angel, the voice that once reverberated through her dreams was drowned out by the sounds of a man who was raged.

_"Damn you! You little prying Pandora!_

_You little demon! Is this what you wanted to see?"_

She remembered the cool feel of a mask beneath her fingers, as its owner rampaged through the room, tearing down drapery and knocking over candelabra.

_"Curse you! You little lying Delilah!_

_You little viper! Is this what you wanted to see?"_

But above all, Christine remembered the horror of the man's face, the very face her own curiousity had demanded she reveal. The scars, the twisted flesh and malformed bone had been molded into a shocking vision that could only envoke fright upon first glance. Christine was almost grateful for being just allowed that, a glance. The face of the Phantom after being revealed had only added to her fear, as the soft brilliance of her angel had been stripped and replaced with a flaring demon.

Christine had reached the end of her mental rope, the barrage of emotion and memory being too much for her will to handle. Tears began to fall from her eyes and with a sob, she buried herface into the linen of Raoul's evening dress.

"Christine!" Raoul cried out at her sudden outburst. He wrapped his arms tightly around her and allowed her tears to soak his chest. "Forgive me, please forgive me for bringing back painful memories. I promise, I will take them away, my love. I promise to never let you feel such pain again. Please forgive me..."

Slowly Christine's sobs died down into soft sniffles, and she brought her face up to look at Raoul's. The perfection of his visage and the genuine love and care in his expression melted her heart.

"Raoul," she whispered, her eyes begging him. "Promise that you will always be by my side. Say you'll love me every waking moment. Turn my head with talk of summertime and make me forget the night."

"Yes, yes, a thousand times yes," he answered with a smile. "Tell me that you'll share one love, one lifetime. Let me be your shelter and light. And anywhere you go let me go too."

"Yes, always," she whispered with awe and adoration for the man holding her. And at her words, the Viscount pulled her deeper into his embrace and kissed her with all the love he felt. Christine melted into him and allowed the rose she had been holding in her hand to slip and fall onto the snow-covered ground. Her hand came up to touch his smooth, flawless cheek before burying them into the silk of his hair.

They remained locked together until neither had any breath to spare. Christine pulled away with a dreamy look in her eyes.

"Call your fine horses," she whispered. "And let us look to tomorrow and a new morning."

Raoul was only too happy to oblige and the two lovers scurried down beneath the rooftop of the _Opera Populaire_. Too enveloped were they in each other, did they notice the dark looming figure creeping out from the shadows. The moment they were gone, the figure descended from his perch behind the statues onto the roof.

The snow crunched softly beneath Erik's staggering steps. Beneath the mask, his eyes fell onto the rose Christine had abandoned in her rendevous with the Viscount. The footsteps stopped upon reaching the lone rose, his gaze burning upon in.

"I gave you my music," he choked. "I made your voice take wing...and this...This is how you repay me?"

The masked man merely stood there, his mind grasping the fact that beneath the layers of fine linen, beneath the flesh and bone of his torso, something burned in his chest. Something, something that had to do with Christine's betrayal was making him bleed inside.

"Denied me...betrayed me..." The voice was now a whisper, a shadow of its former glory.

His leather clad fingers came up to press at his throbbing heart. This pain, it was too much; he had to find a way to be rid of it. It was becoming blinding, obscuring everything in his vision. His mind, the mind that once was only filled with beautiful thoughts of music, it was now consumed with thoughts of her and the Viscount together! But how? How did humans learn to deal with this?

Again, Erik's gaze fell on the fallen rose, and a sweep of anger went through him.

"Damn you! Damn you damn you!" he screamed, bringing his foot down to crush the offending bud. A string of curses followed and Erik allowed himself to fall to the ground, not caring if his finely tailored suit was soiled. He screamed to the sky in blinding rage, the cry so horrific that it scattered the birds from the rooftops throughout the entire block.

"You wish to forget the night Christine? You wish to forget your Angel?" he asked the sky, as though the stars would hold his answer. "Very well! Consider it a final gift from your great maestro!" Tears leaked from his eyes and he allowed himself to collapse on the snow.

He lay there for a great amount of time, until the cold had his entire body numb. His mind and heart became numb as well, and Erik was allowed to re-cap what had happened this night.

Christine had denied him...betrayed him.

Was it only fair that he was allowed to do the same?

Yes, he concurred. That is what he would do. He would forget, he would deny, he would never again allow his heart to dwell on her. He would throw himself into his music, and focus on completing his masterpiece, _Don Juan Triumphant._ He would never again use the passage behind the mirror to watch her, nor teach her to sing.

Regaining the feeling in his legs, Erik rose to his feet and regained the strong posture he held as the Phantom of the Opera. Never again would he be Christine's Angel of Music. For if he did, he was not sure his heart could survive it.

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This is actually the un-betaed version of Chapter One, so there are probably grammar and spelling mistakes everywhere. I don't know when I'll be getting out the betaed version, or Chapter Two for that matter.

Reviews are appreciated. Thanks for reading.

Sephiress


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